


How Many Days Later?

by hauntedlittledoll



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedlittledoll/pseuds/hauntedlittledoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tarrinatopaz's prompt: "How many days later?"</p><p>December 6, 2014 - One hundred twenty-eight days after the Croatoan Virus came to Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Days Later?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarrinatopaz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tarrinatopaz).



He had missed.

It was a seventy story skyscraper, and Dick Grayson—Batman—had missed it entirely.  As he fell, Dick watched the grapple fly in a useless arc before it followed him down toward the Croat-infested streets below.

She hit him with her entire body.

The change in weight, trajectory, and their conflicting momentum clashed over the control of Batgirl’s wild last-minute save; they both slammed into the side of a building.  Steph took the brunt of it, but Dick smacked his cowled head hard against a window.

It took him a full minute to figure out that they were still hanging in mid-air.  Then Dick recalled—dimly—that the recoil function of Stephanie’s grapple was in need of repair.

"Are we climbing?" he asked politely.  Not even Bat-issue combat boots would make a difference against the bulletproof glass of Wayne Tower, but if they could get enough swing to reach one of the adjacent buildings …

"You’re climbing," Steph grinned at him through tightly-clenched teeth as she got her feet against the building, "and then you’re gonna pull me up."

He automatically twisted to take more of his own weight as he checked the other vigilante over for visible injury.

"Dislocated my shoulder," Steph admitted tightly.

Of course she had; Dick was about two hundred pounds of acrobat and Kevlar.  He was impressed that she still had both hands on the grapple gun.

"Least I could do," he agreed, gripping the line and hauling upward.  It takes a moment of negotiation with his knees to use his legs properly, but then muscle memory kicks in and Dick is able to progress in a vertical direction.  "Enjoying the view?" he called down after a bit.

"Best of the best," Steph shouted back.

Dick added a little shimmy for her amusement.  As small as it was, the side-to-side movement made his head swim.  Dick kept it up anyway, determined to provide whatever distraction he could for the long, slow journey upward.

Thank goodness they had ditched the capes early on in this apocalyptic misadventure.

Hauling Steph up afterward was painful for the both of them.  She had no leverage to ease the strain on her shoulder, and every movement made Dick’s head ring.  He gritted his teeth, she gritted hers, and they got the job done.

As soon as Steph’s pointy ears cleared the rooftop, Dick reached down and pulled her up by the good arm.  She hopped the stonework and scrambled away from the edge, taking him with her until they collapsed together a few feet away.

Steph laughed when she landed on her bad arm, because the only other alternative was crying and Batgirl didn’t do that.

Dick had always fiercely appreciated Steph’s positive determination, and the Batman managed to find a smile of his own as they lie sprawled in a blissfully unmoving heap on the top of Wayne Tower.

He should really get up and take a look at her shoulder, but Steph had already made herself comfortable so Dick did the same.

They only had one working grapple between them, and Dick didn’t trust his aim or Steph’s grip right now.  They could wait; Tim and Damian would come looking for them sooner or later.

"How many days later?" Steph echoed, mumbling into his shoulder.

She wasn’t asking about little brothers.  She was asking the other question—the ugly one.  It had been a long time since anyone had bothered to ask it aloud; the answer only got worse each time it was asked.  Now Dick had to actually stop and do the math.

Four months and change since this mess had started.

"One hundred and twenty-eight days," he reported breathlessly.

Steph laughed drowsily.  “Is that all?”

"Yeah," Dick murmured, curling protectively around the other vigilante as the snow started coming down.  "That’s all."


End file.
